“Why would he want his lion killed?” Euphrasia scoffed.
“I don't imagine he did. Whatever murky business was in hand, Leonidas probably died by accident.”
“When Calliopus saw the body, his reactions seemed genuine,” I confirmed. In fact his anger and surprise had been the only sure signals he evinced that day. “But I'm damned certain he knew all along that Leonidas was being taken away in the night.”
The way Saturninus was now staring fixedly at his fingernails marked a change in him. What had given him pause? That Calliopus knew of the plan? No, he had heard Helena say so without a flicker of reaction. I reckon he knew Leonidas was being taken away. Was the key word “Leonidas'? I remembered a couple of puzzles I had seen at the menagerie: the name board for Leonidas stored in another part of the building, and the second lion being first hidden away then returned to the main corridor, if that was his usual place.
“My opinion,” I submitted crisply, “is that Leonidas was a substitute.”
“A substitute?” Even Helena was surprised.
“Calliopus owns a second lion, a new one just imported. I think Draco was supposed to have gone on the mystery tour that night.”
Saturninus remained silent. This could all be nothing to do with him. Or he might be in the thick of it
“I think,” I said, “Calliopus for some reason had Draco and Leonidas secretly switched.”
Saturninus finally looked up. “It would be very dangerous,” he said slowly, “if someone was expecting a freshly captured wild animal, to send them a trained man-eater instead.”
I returned his stare levelly. “The recipients would be on watch for the wrong set of behaviour?” He made no reply. “The man-eater might be mishandled. Imagine the scene: Leonidas had been accustomed to making journeys in a small travelling cage, and he knew what to expect at the end of it: the arena-and men for him to eat. He was hungry that night; his keeper told me so. On being released from the cage, strangers might unwittingly give him signal… that set off his training. He normally looked quiet, even friendly, but once he thought he was supposed to attack he would go for whoever he saw-perhaps even kill them'“
“When he started rampaging, people would panic,” Helena said.
“Anyone who was armed,” I went on, “would have to try to kill the lion. A gladiator, for instance.”
Finally Saturninus made a slight gesture with his hand. It merely said my suggestion was feasible. It did not say he had ever seen it happen. He would never confess that.
I still had no certain knowledge why Leonidas had been taken from his cage that night, where he went, or who was with him on his journey and at its violent aftermath. But I was convinced that I had just worked out how he came to die.
30
I toyed with a bunch of grape stems that had been mislaid among the lushly fringed spread on my feeding couch. Was I eccentric to care? Was my obsession with Leonidas unhealthy and pointless? Or was I right, and the noble beast's fate should be as significant to a civilised man as any unexplained killing of a fellow human being?
When Saturninus said that sending a man-eater in place of an untrained lion was dangerous, for a rare moment he had failed to keep his voice calm. Was he remembering the killing? And if he was present, was he in any way responsible for the whole sinister farce? He had already claimed he and Euphrasia had dined with the ex-praetor Urtica that night. I thought him easily the sort of man who knows that the best lies are closest to the truth; the truth could be not that Saturninus possessed a respectable alibi, but far worse: that poor Leonidas had also been the praetor's guest.
Pomponius Urtica had a new, “wild” girlfriend; he might want to impress her He was keen on the Circus; he was close to the lanistae. Saturninus for one seemed to view Urtica as a contact with useful influence. The man's status could be about to evaporate, however. If he had used his house for a private display, he was open to blackmail. If it were ever made known that he had commissioned death for domestic entertainment, then he would be destroyed politically.
Saturninus would of course cover up for him. This could be it: first he had indulged the man by secretly arranging some sort of combat' Then, when the display went wrong, Saturninus had boldly made the best of it. By saving the magistrate's reputation, he would acquire a patron with a permanent debt.
I was beginning to understand. One aspect I saw immediately was that anyone who threatened to expose the people involved was courting danger. Urtica was politically powerful. Saturninus kept a troupe of trained killers. He had been a gladiator himself; if crossed, he looked as if he could still avenge himself quite efficiently.
Across the space where the tables had been, now an expanse of newly swept geometric mosaic tiles, Helena Justina had observed me brooding. She held my gaze until my mood lightened, then she smiled quietly. I was feeling the strain of my cold. I would have liked to be taken home, but it was still too early to retire. Hospitality held us in its relentless grip.
Saturninus had been giving his attention to a bowl of nuts. Now he looked up suddenly and, as people do when you want to be left alone to snuffle, he insisted on making me share his vivacity. “So, Falco! The word is you're making my old partner Calliopus hop!”
This was the last subject I wanted to discuss. I applied the necessary discreet smile. “That's privileged information.”
“I bet he's cheating the Censor to Hades and back.” “He has employed an accountant with flair.”
“But you're thwarting them?”
My irritation was hard to check. “Saturninus, you're too intelligent to think you can give me dinner then expect me to leak secrets.”
I knew better than to discuss my report with anyone, even Calliopus himself: From what I knew of bureaucracy it was perfectly possible for Falco Partner to substantiate a million-sesterces fraud, yet still to encounter some slimy high-powered bureaucrat who would decide there were policy reasons, or ancient precedents, or issues affecting his own pension, that made him advise his great imperial master to shelve the expose.
Saturninus never gave up. “The rumour in the Forum is that Calliopus looks miserable.”
“That,” interrupted Helena Justina calmly, “will be because his wife has found out about his mistress'“ She smoothed the cover of the cushion she was leaning on. “He must be afraid Artemisia will insist on him following her to Surrentum at this awful time of year.”
“Is that what you would have arranged, Helena?” asked Euphrasia, with a sidelong glance at me.
“No,” said Helena. “If I was departing Rome because my husband had offended me, I would either leave the notice of divorce propped against his feeding bowl-or he would be right there in the carriage with me so I could tell him what I thought.”
Saturninus seemed honestly puzzled. “You would do as your husband directed.”
“I doubt it,” said Helena.
Saturninus looked affronted for a moment, as though he were not used to a woman disagreeing with him- though from our observations that evening at table, he was just as used to it as anyone. Then he decided to duck the issue with more nosy questions. “So! Now Calliopus must await the results of your enquiries!”
I looked him straight in the eye. “No peace for me and my partner. We're conducting a composite audit, not just random checks.”
“What does that mean?” smiled Saturninus.
I had a stinking cold, but I was nobody's helpless sparring stake. I made it pleasant, since we were dining in his house: “It means you're next.”
For the rest of the evening we discussed where to buy garlands in December, religion, pepper, and the wilder sidebranches of formal epic poetry. Very nice. I let Helena do the work' She had been brought up to shine in society. A man with his head blocked so he can only breathe through his teeth is entitled to sink down scowling and pretend to be an uneducated Aventine pig.
